Category Archives: accidents

adventures in excretion, ii

Grip loves to take a bath. You can tell because he gets that thinking-really-hard look on his face as soon as he goes in the water. As much as he loves being in the water, though, he loves the aftermath even more: being dried with the blowdryer. We put it on low heat and point it at him and he gets absolutely still — and stays that we until we stop. If he’s capable of looking forward to anything, this is what he looks forward to.

One problem, though: the combination of bath-induced relaxation and warm air on exposed genitalia tends to yield spontaneous urination. After a few experiences with this phenomenon, I had learned my lesson. The other day, after his bath and prior to the blowdryer treatment, I laid a cloth diaper over the relevant parts. He loved it like always, but didn’t pee, so I figured he was just empty.

You can see where this is going.

After I put the blowdryer away I picked him up so I could put his bathrobe down on the counter under him. (It might be relevant to note that I was entirely naked too at this point.) I was holding him against my chest with my left arm and carrying the bathrobe in my right when I noticed that increasingly-familiar warm sensation cascading down the front of my body.

Always, when being urinated on, there is a moment of panicked indecision about the proper course of action. I don’t know why – -it’s just not something you have a built-in reaction to; you have to think it through, and the time-sensitive nature of the situation makes clear thinking difficult. So anyway, for a moment I just stood and let him pee on me.

I decided then that I needed a free hand to deal with the situation, so I tossed the robe over into the bath, where it would be safe. With one arm free, I sidled awkwardly to the sink, leaned my body (and the kid) over it, and attempted with my right hand to direct the stream of liquid into the sink. Just when I thought I had achieved some modicum of control over the situation, BWAAA… a huge, explosive poop. Breast milk poop, nearly bereft of solid matter, cascaded into the sink, briefly glancing off Grip’s happily kicking feet.

This is what military types call a “rapidly evolving event theater.” I was holding a wiggling child with my left hand and aiming a small penis with my right; I had no further appendages suited for useful deployment. After briefly assessing this new development, I decided that there was no shame in summoning reinforcements. That’s when I started shouting “Help! Help!”

The cavalry (Mom) arrived shortly, bearing a warm washcloth and an aptitude for thinking quickly. Feet and bottoms were cleaned, diapers applied, children wrapped in robes, pee toweled from torsos, excretions rinsed from sinks. Parenting: it’s not just a job…

adventures in excretion

So there I am: 3:15am, laying in bed, just about to drift asleep after hours of obsessive online research of something or other, when Jen says, “can you change him?” Shake myself awake. Yes, I am a Dad, and I change diapers! To the fray! So I change the little bugger. I take him back to Mom. En route: _bwaaaa_[gross bubbly noise]! Explosive poop. Fine. We’ll let him eat and then change him again. Half hour later: shake myself awake again; off to change him again.

Everything’s going well, despite the two-diaper-wipe-worthy mess. Keeping him covered, keeping an eye on him, keeping his socks out of the poop, keeping the sleep sack clean. Getting good at this, yeah? Cool. Bend over to grab a new diaper, straighten up, notice an arc of pee streaming, in just such an angle as to bypass the cloth diaper draping his midriff, onto the wall. Not good. Frantically toss the new diaper over the pee stream. OK. Peeing done. Toss new diaper in trash, wipe his butt off again with diaper wipe, grab yet new diaper. Put diaper on.

So I reach to pick him up, and I swear he’s smiling. Does he think this is a game? Pee on the wall when Dad’s not looking? Fun game, kid! You’re grounded! I pick him up, still groggy despite all the action, and get halfway into the bedroom when I discover the reason he’s smiling: his sleep sack and the back of his head are covered in warm liquid. Consult with Mom: nope, that ain’t milk. He’s got pee on him.

Here, then, we have one of those moments. A moment of truth for a new parent. Do you fight off your exhaustion? Forge on? Make any sacrifice? All that stuff? Of course!

Or… perhaps… instead… you could just use a spare cloth diaper to wipe his head off… and his neck… like that… extra wipe there behind the ear… and dab the sleep sack… there we go. Good as new! They say infant pee is sterile, no? He looks so happy. Let’s bathe him tomorrow morning.

So, to summarize: our child slept last night with a pee-soaked head. He seems fine though.

bad parents

hand boobooI knew it would happen one day: one of us was bound to drop him, bonk him against a door frame, pinch his toes in a zipper or otherwise demonstrate our inadequacy as parents. Yesterday, my worst nightmare came to pass: Grip has…an infected hangnail!

Lest anyone think I’m being an overreactive first-time parent, it really does look pretty sad. His thumb is red and swollen and there is even a little green pussy bit. Dad talked me down from rushing immediately to the emergency room when the clearly life-threatening (or at least _limb_-threatening) injury was discovered. Instead, his Grandma Lorette — a board certified physician — took a look at it and gave the opinion that he would probably just barely survive if we cleaned it well and kept some anti-bacterial cream on it.

So, our poor baby is now sporting a little mitten on his hand to keep him from ingesting the Neosporin (God only knows what havoc _that_ would wreak on his insides/mother’s nerves!) we’ve got slathered on under the world’s tiniest band-aid. We keep telling him it’s a catcher’s mitt. I don’t think he believes us.

the hose works!

Yesterday, for the first time, Grip tried to pee on me.

We were at the hospital for his routine two day follow-up. He was naked on the bed and I was at the sink. I heard the nurse say, “oh, look at that!” and turned, expecting to see a cute facial expression or something. Instead I spotted a 5+ foot stream of fluid arcing towards me. I yelped and danced back away from it, which naturally piqued Grip’s interest, so he tried to stretch back and look at me, which sent his pee stream chasing after me in the same direction. I had been cornered — in fact, I had been liberally sprinkled — when the hose finally ran out of juice.

My boy can pee farther than your boy!!!